


Stirring Up the Dust

by Felicia_Rottingstone



Series: The Rogue of Orzammar [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: But It's Still Just Sex Right?, Dom!Zev, F/M, Friends to Enemies, Meddling Sisters, Orzammar (Dragon Age), Returning Home, Sisters, Zevran Offers a Massage, loving sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-12 07:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20560604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felicia_Rottingstone/pseuds/Felicia_Rottingstone
Summary: Natia Brosca returns to Orzammar as a Grey Warden and is surprised by what she finds there.





	1. The Sight of a Sister

Natia wasn’t sure what to expect when she finally returned to Orzammar. Grey Wardens were respected in society, keeping their caste even though those dwarves that donned the blue technically became surfacers. Except, Natia didn’t have a caste to begin with, and she wasn’t sure how much of a difference it would make. Still, there were at least two people who would be happy to see her return: Rica and Leske. Her sister and her best friend.

What Natia hadn’t expected was to enter the commons to the sight of a brawl erupting between two noble houses, an empty throne in contest, and civil war on the verge of outbreak. If she had hoped to start her return with friendly reunions, she would have to postpone them until some semblance of order could be established. With great reluctance, she turned away from Dust Town and headed for a place she had never been: the Diamond Quarter.

Natia’s heart sank at the idea of being so close to Rica and still not being able to go see her. But as soon as the doors opened to the Diamond Quarter, there she was. If she had been beautiful before, she was breathtaking now, dressed entirely in the jewels and splendor of the noble caste. Natia blinked for a moment, unsure if the sight before her was real or simply wishful thinking. Then Rica’s arms were around her, squeezing her little sister tightly.

"I've missed you, Rica," she whispered into ruby hair, breathing in the warm, familiar scent that had comforted her throughout her childhood. Rica talked too fast for Natia to catch it all, tears of happiness mixing with squeals of excitement as the older woman tried to condense months of excitement into just a few sentences.

"You… You're a mother?" she asked, grasping onto a single piece of information as she pulled away to look at Rica properly.

“Oh, I wish I could have brought little Endrin out to meet you, but he can’t leave the royal nursery,” Rica explained. “It’s not safe, with everything that’s happened. We’ve been getting death threats ever since Behlen’s father died.”

“I can’t believe Behlen is your sponsor,” Natia mused. 

“Do you think I stole these clothes?” Rica asked, one eyebrow arched as she stepped back to show them off. She twirled in a little circle, and Natia shook her head in bewilderment.

“I do not mean to interrupt such a joyous reunion,” Zevran interrupted, stepping up next to Natia. “But I cannot refrain from complimenting such a beautiful woman for her exquisite taste in refinery.”

He held out a hand, and with a giggle, Rica took it and allowed him to place a kiss upon her knuckles. Behind Natia, both Alistair and Morrigan made sounds of disapproval. 

“Oh, this one’s a real charmer,” Rica observed, smiling sweetly up at him. “Wherever did you find him?”

“I ambushed her,” he proclaimed. “Once I had set my trap, she could not turn away from my most positive attributes, and was forced to take me along.”

“He tried to kill me,” Natia corrected. Rica’s eyes went wide.

“Yes, but then I saw you, and knew I could never bring one so lovely as you to harm,” Zevran argued.

“He actually stabbed me in the side before I could knock him out,” she retorted. “And then he begged me for his life.”

“I am trying to make a good impression,” Zevran hissed at her. Natia didn’t look at him, but allowed one corner of her mouth to curl up in amusement so that only Rica could see. 

“I see,” Rica said. “Well, you should know that I share my bed with the future king of Orzammar, and Prince Behlen doesn’t take kindly to assaults on his family, so if you’re inclined to finish your mission, you might want to think twice.”

“Not to be rude, but there are rather serious accusations being thrown at Behlen,” Alistair interjected.

“They’re all lies,” Rica exclaimed. “He’s been heartbroken ever since his father died, and when his brother was sent away after Trian’s death, he cried for weeks. Please say you believe me, Nat.”

“Of course I do,” she assured her sister. Rica didn’t lie to Natia, and she trusted her big sister’s judgment more than anything. “But tell me, is he good to you?”

“Oh, he’s wonderful,” she assured her. “I’ve never been so well taken care of. I’m just worried about everything that’s going on. With Harrowmont and his supporters attacking us at every turn, and now with the Blight coming, I’m… I’m scared Nat.”

“The Blight is why we’re here, actually,” Natia said. “We need Orzammar’s armies to join us.”

“I can help with that!” Rica said brightly. With little hesitation, she led them to the Assembly and to Vartag Gavorn, Behlen’s second. 

As they marched through the Diamond Quarter, Natia couldn’t help but tally up the differences she noticed in her big sister. The aesthetics were obvious in the quality of her clothes and make-up, but it was more than that. Rica seemed to be taller, her back straighter, her strides more purposeful and sure. She looked straight ahead, her chin held high, and she didn’t hesitate to meet the gazes of anyone they passed. She still wore the same brand that marked Natia’s cheek, but no one seemed to notice it. She looked like she belonged here. She had power, she knew she had power, and she wasn’t afraid to wield it.

The tension in Natia’s shoulders eased over the course of the short walk. She had hoped to return to Orzammar a hero, but found now that Orzammar already had a hero in the bubbly red-head that held the prince’s ear. If Rica stood with her, who could stand against her.

Before entering the Assembly, Zevran sidled up next to her again, leaning close to whisper in her ear, “So, it is Nat, then?”

“You know, at any time, I can change my mind about killing you,” she reminded him. 

“Oh, ho!” he laughed. “I am simply pleased to see that your marvelous spirit is not unique in your family. Tell me, my Warden, are all the Broscas so lovely as well?”

“Well, no one’s quite as pretty as Rica,” she said.

“She is like a diamond in that way,” he agreed, then caught Natia’s eye and lowered his voice. “You, I think, are more like a star shining brilliantly in the night sky. There is no comparison.”

Zevran did not give her any time to respond before following Rica and the rest of the party through the heavy stone doors. Natia shook off the heat of his words as she rushed to follow.


	2. Boys and Broscas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Rica and Natia feel the need to look out for the other's happiness but go about it in very different ways.

Natia woke up to the sensation of her blanket being lifted off of her. Then the mattress depressed as a second body snuck on to it, slow and deliberate movements taking care to disturb her as little as possible. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know the owner of the small hands that snaked around her waist to pull her close or the nose that nuzzled into her neck.

“Shoulda known you wouldn’t let me sleep in,” Natia grumbled, twining her fingers with the hand on her stomach.

“I never get to be the big spoon anymore,” Rica complained, a smile in her voice. “I wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity.”

“Can’t you go spoon your baby, or something?”

“I am,” Rica giggled “You’re my baby sister.” 

As hard as she fought, Natia couldn’t keep the smile off her face and was thankful her back was turned to prevent giving Rica the satisfaction. It was nice, being back in Orzammar. Much nicer than she’d thought it would be. It was particularly nice being in a soft, warm bed, having properly bathed the night before, and snuggling with her sweet-smelling sister. She’d forgotten how comforting it was to share a bed with another body. It felt safer, somehow. Especially since it was Rica, the one person in the world she trusted without reservations.

The two women laid there for some time, both drifting on the edge of sleep, their breathing and hearts beating in unison. Natia let the worries she had carried on her shoulders fade away. Here, in the cocoon of her sister’s warmth, the darkspawn didn’t exist. There were no armies to raise, no deshyrs to convince, no regent to run from. Rica, too, seemed to relax in a way she hadn’t since before her son’s birth. 

Eventually, the noise of her party awaking in the adjacent rooms forced Natia to crawl from the sanctuary of the blankets and rejoin the living. Rica helped her dress and braided her hair as she answered every question Natia asked about Prince Behlen. Once she was ready, Natia left the room, joining her companions, who had all gathered to meet with Behlen. When Vartag arrived to escort them to the meeting, Rica wished them luck, then caught Zevran by the elbow, silently holding him back with a stern look as the others left.

“I was hoping we could have a chat,” Rica said. “In private.”

“Ah, how can I deny the wishes of a beautiful woman,” Zevran consented. “But if I am to be at your mercy in private, I must kindly ask that you do not entice me to any such affair as would upset certain well-armed parties that may take offense to any such liaison.”

“Are you referring to Prince Behlen, or my sister?” Rica asked. The bluntness of her question almost made the smile drop from Zevran’s face, but he caught it quickly and covered with a laugh. 

“Of course, the prince,” he said, placing his hands on his hips, trying to convince her he had nothing to hide. “Why would our dear Natia have any such interest in my liaisons?”

“You know, you’re not as good a liar as she is,” Rica observed, then gestured for him to take a seat on a stone bench with her. “I’ve seen her lie so well, she once convinced our own mother she was a guardsman come to raid the house. Granted, Mother was drunk at the time, but still.”

“Yes, she does have a knack for convincing others to see the world as she wishes them to,” he agreed, slowly taking a seat, his guard raised.

“She’s such a good liar, she can even lie to herself. And believe it, too.” Rica paused, waiting for him to comment, but he kept silent. “That’s why I haven’t bothered to ask her about you. I’m sure whatever the truth is, she’s got it locked up so tight, she won’t even admit it to herself. I think you’ll be easier to read.”

“I am unsure what you are implying, Lady Brosca, but I’m not sure I am comfortable continuing this conversation.” Zevran started to rise, but Rica grabbed his forearm and yanked him down.

“Have you slept with her yet?”

“An Antivan does not kiss and tell,” Zevran laughed, but it was a hollow laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. Rica pursed her lips. Either he had and regretted it, or he hadn’t and regretted that too. 

“Have you fallen in love with her?” she pressed.

“Such questions!” Zevran exclaimed, avoiding her gaze as he fidgeted with his bracers. “If this is where you threaten to defend her honor at the point of a sword, allow me to spare you the effort. Whatever has or has not happened, or will happen, or will not happen, all this is entirely at her discretion. I am pledged to her, body and spirit. I have promised to allow no harm to come to her, and I take that very seriously.”

Rica smiled at him, nodding. “That’s very noble. But it doesn’t answer my question.”

“Do you interrogate all of her suitors in this manner?” 

“So you admit you are her suitor?” 

“I admit only that you seem to believe I am, although I cannot fathom how you have come to this conclusion.”

“Oh, that’s easy. She doesn’t look at you,” Rica explained.

“I… am not sure I follow.” 

“My sister and I grew up in Dust Town. Have you visited there yet?” He shook his head. “It’s kind of awful. We’re brands. The descendants of people deemed unworthy of belonging to dwarven society. We’re not supposed to exist, which is bad enough to grow up believing, but then our mother always blamed Nat for her father running off to the surface and treated her like a burden, too. 

“We both learned early on to watch people. Watch their hands, their eyes, their mouths. Look for the little tells that predict what they’re going to do or say next. It lets us avoid the guards when they’re in the mood to give a beating, or mother when she’s ready to yell, but it also helps us figure out which of the nobles is compassionate enough to give us a little food, or which merchant will trade with us under the table.

“When she started working for Beraht, this talent became particularly useful. She could always tell who was hiding something. I imagine it’s served her well as a Grey Warden, too. She still does it. She watches her companions constantly, noticing every subtle shift and expression. Except you. She goes out of her way not to watch you.”

“Perhaps she finds my appearance distasteful,” Zevran suggested.

“Oh, you’re funny,” Rica chimed, laying a hand on his arm. “But we both know that’s not true. She doesn’t watch you because she’s afraid of what she’ll see.”

“What does she fear she’ll see?” he asked, his heart suddenly pounding in anticipation. 

“Nothing,” Rica answered. “She fears she’ll see emptiness in your eyes when you look at her, or that you don’t look at her at all.” 

Anger surged up inside Zevran, and he clenched his jaw to keep it in check. He took a deep breath and tried to shake himself free from the emotion. There was no cause for it. He was overreacting. 

“How can you be sure this is what she fears?” he asked instead. “Perhaps she fears the opposite, the attention and adoration of a man she cares little for.”

“I think that’s what you fear.”

“Oh? What makes you say so?”

“Because you’re the opposite of her,” Rica surmised. “She avoids looking at you, but you can’t keep your eyes off of her. You hide your feelings behind casual flirtation so that, if she rejects you, well, you didn’t really mean it anyway. She hides hers behind a stone wall of shallow friendship so that she’s never in the position of being rejected in the first place.”

Zevran frowned at the wall opposite him, thinking over Rica’s observations. She had known Natia far longer than he had, and while he had always prided himself on his ability to read people, perhaps he had misjudged Natia, and misstepped in how he approached her as a result. Finally, he shook his head and sighed.

“Even if all you say is true, there does not seem to be much purpose in pointing it out to me,” he complained.

“Love isn’t an important aspect of dwarven culture,” Rica said, her smile widening as she drew his gaze. “No little dwarf grows up wishing for it. We’re too practical by nature. But I’ve always wanted more for Nat. She deserves everything she can get, including the love of a man willing to give up everything to follow and protect her.”

“And if I cannot give her what she deserves?” he asked.

“Try.”

Across the palace, the other Brosca sister stared at her sister’s lover with a cold and stony face. Behlen wanted her help again, this time to rid him of the Carta boss that had taken over for Beraht, Jarvia. Natia had no qualms about putting the odious woman down, but she hesitated to help Behlen so openly.

“You need troops for the Blight,” Behlen pointed out. “As king, I can give them to you.”

“True, but so could Harrowmont,” Natia pointed out. “I need a king, but that king doesn’t have to be you.”

Behlen narrowed his eyes at her and absentmindedly tugged at one of the braids in his beard. She wasn’t quite what he expected. As a Grey Warden, he thought she’d be more mysterious and reserved, like the one who had recruited her. Instead, she was blunt in a way he wasn’t used to. As a brand, he thought she’d be uncivilized or suspect but she held herself with the authority of a commander and demanded his respect with every hard gaze. As Rica’s sister, he’d expected a demure and refined beauty, but Natia was neither demure nor refined, and she was beautiful in the same way unhewn stone was beautiful, which is to say, she wasn’t, but there was potential. 

“Support me as king, ally yourself with me publically, and all of Orzammar and Ferelden will benefit,” he tried again. “Harrowmont is a stodgy old traditionalist. He’ll get you troops, sure, but once the Blight is done, he’ll close the doors and Orzammar will continue to decay, cut off from the rest of the world.”

“It’s a convincing argument,” Natia conceded. “But I’m looking for a little more than that. I know what kind of king you’ll make. What I want to know is what kind of father you’ll be.”

Behlen almost smiled at the woman’s gumption. Orzammar was on the brink of civil war, a Blight ravaged the surface, and her concern was for her family. He wasn’t sure he could relate, but he did admire her for it.

“My son will be raised by the finest experts,” he assured her. “He will be loved by all, and when it is time, he will succeed me for the throne.”

“Great! What about his mother?”

“She has already been raised,” Behlen pointed out. “Both her and your mother reside in the palace and are treated with the respect their importance deserves.”

Natia nodded, then cocked her head to the side. “You’re not married, correct?”

“No,” he confirmed.

“So my sister is concubine, and that makes her special. But if you marry, then the dynamics change with it.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what it is you want,” Behlen suggested.

“I want your promise that you won’t marry,” she responded quickly. “Take as many other concubines as you like, but no one will outrank her. She will be first in your house, she will be your confidant and advisor, and you will always treat her with the respect of a treasured queen, even after she no longer bears you sons.”

“What, no promise that I’ll always love her, too?” Behlen laughed. 

“I’m a practical sort of dwarf. Love doesn’t keep people fed and protected,” Natia explained. “I don’t care if you love her, as long as you never hurt her. And if you break this promise, I will take her and her son to the surface so fast you won’t notice until they’re long gone, and then I’ll come back and destroy your power.”

“But if I promise, then you’ll make sure I’m king and I’ll always have your blade at my side?”

“Correct,” she confirmed.

“Natia, can I talk to you for a moment,” Alistair cut in, motioning to an empty corner. She rose from her seat and followed him.

“Grey Wardens do not meddle in the politics of independent kingdoms,” Alistair said, his head bent low so only she could hear him.

“Yeah, well Broscas are known for meddling in the lives of their sisters, so excuse me if I’d rather her be the concubine of a king than a dead man,” Natia snapped back. She turned away from him before he could make another argument and held out her hand to Behlen. “Do we have a deal?”

“We do, Natia Brosca,” he agreed, clasping her hand. Then he tugged her close and lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “I do, you know.”

“You do what?”

“Promise to always love her,” he answered. His eyes met her in utter seriousness, and she couldn't help but admit that at least he believed what he said. He let her hand go and stepped back, but he didn’t break their gaze. Natia got the distinct feeling that he was warning her as he did so, telling her that he would hold her to her promise as rigidly as she would hold him to his. She let her mouth curl into a smile. 

Both prince and Grey Warden walked away from the meeting thinking how nice it was knowing Rica had someone so ruthless to protect her.


	3. An Unwelcome Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natia runs into Leske while hunting for Jarvia.

Dust Town was as bad as Natia had remembered it. Worse maybe, or maybe she had just forgotten the thick, sharp smell of damp refuse, the piles of junk and garbage that tucked into every crevice, and the layer of grime that coated everything and everyone in varying levels of thickness. The sight of her childhood neighborhood tugged at her heart, each pillar and door and corner pulling forth memories she hadn’t realized she’d forgotten.

“Maker’s breath, how do people live like this?” Alistair muttered, his eyes sweeping over the bedraggled appearance of a beggar. Her cheeks were gaunt, and her sunken eyes were pallid and jaundiced.

“That’s the trick, we’re not actually people.” Natia spoke as if it were a joke, some trick she used to her advantage, but Alistair and Zevran exchanged worried frowns, and even Morrigan pursed her lips.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” Alistair asked.

“Only the casteless live in Dust Town,” Natia explained. “Some dwarf does something the Assembly doesn’t like, their name is erased from the Shaperate, and they’re branded as not worthy of passing on their dumb dwarf genetics. Of course, they do anyway, and that’s how you got me. But my very existence is an insult to the Stone, so they keep us all here. Out of sight. Away from upstanding dwarven society.”

“I guess an unlucky birth makes bastards of us all,” Zevran commented. Of the four of them, none could name their father, at least that he knew, but he was secretly grateful the women at the whorehouse had given him a childhood that wasn’t completely unpleasant. 

“Stop,” Natia commanded.

All three of her companions froze in place, hands on their weapons, ready to draw them at her command. Zevran’s eyes swept the area, looking for signs of danger. There were plenty of well-armed, shady looking dwarves, but none he could see gave them any particular attention, save the odd confused expressions at seeing non-dwarves in Dust Town.

“Hold position,” she said, her blades still undrawn, but her posture poised for action. The three of her companions watched as she crouched and broke into a sprint, darting from shadow to shadow in a blur. Zevran spotted her target just as she launched herself at him, a burly looking thug with dark braids who crumpled beneath her as she hit him in the waist, tackling him with an audible smack.

He broke into a run, suddenly worried that she was without allies, but as he, Alistair, and Morrigan reached them, they found her settled on the man’s chest, laughing heartily.

“Ahrg, get off me, you nug-licker,” the man groaned, clearly annoyed. “You’ve gotten as fat as a sodding noble.”

“And you’ve gotten as ugly as one,” she teased, squeezing his cheeks between her hands. With great effort, the man pushed her off of him and clambered to his feet, not even bothering to dust himself off. Once standing, he glared at her for a good, long moment before letting a smile break out over his face.

“I heard there was some Grey Warden running around. It’s good to see you again.” Natia embraced the man, hugging him as tightly as she had Rica. Zevran glanced at Alistair and Morrigan to gauge their reactions, but neither looked more than confused and unimpressed, respectfully. 

“This is Leske,” she finally introduced, her arm slung around his shoulders. Zevran pretended it did not bother him how closely they stood. “My best friend since the first time I beat the crap out of him.”

“We were ten, and she’d just had a growth spurt,” he defended. “I’ve beat her plenty since then.”

Natia rolled her eyes. She launched into a conversation with him, catching him up on the events of her life since they’d last seen each other before turning the conversation to Jarvia. Zevran observed Leske while he talked, the friendly smile on his lips at odds with the rising suspicion he felt. This man was clearly the disreputable sort, and while all of them, especially Natia, played fast and loose with what was legal and moral, Zevran couldn’t shake the feeling that Leske would sell his own mother for a bit of coin. Leske stood with his arms crossed, fists balled, shoulders slightly hunched, and his eyes darted from side to side, as if he was nervous of being observed, or perhaps was waiting for something.

What bothered him the most, however, was the way Natia stood as she spoke to him. She was relaxed, her shoulders low and loose, and she danced on the balls of her feet, clearly excited at the reunion. More than once, she touched Leske’s arm or elbow. She clearly liked this man, and for some reason, that made Zevran dislike him.

“This man seems suspect, does he not?” he asked Morrigan, leaning close to mutter under his breath.

“Says the assassin,” she said back, stepping away from him to regain the distance. “If the Warden trusts him, I choose not to doubt her judgment. Else I would expend all my energy waiting for your attack. Perhaps your instinct of distrust is mere envy?”

Her upper lip curled into a disdainful smile, and Zevran scowled at her, turning back to the conversation just as Leske directed them to a door some ways away.

“That’s my house,” she said, her face falling.

“It’s been abandoned for a while now,” Leske said. “Ever since Rica and Kalah moved into the palace. Not like you can stop the Carta from taking every inch they can get.”

He shook his head ruefully and clapped Natia on the shoulder. Her jaw clenched, but Zevran could not quite decipher if it was fear or anger that hardened her gaze.

“Shall we check it out?” Alistair asked, prompting her to make a decision.

She nodded and took a deep breath, then turned back to Leske. “Fight with me once more, for old time’s sake?” she asked.

“Sorry, Nat. I try to avoid fights these days. I gotta live here, remember?” He shrugged apologetically, and Natia nodded her understanding.

Zevran watched her closely as they left behind her childhood friend and approached Natia’s former home. It didn’t look like much and was just as run-down and dirty as every other door on the street. But the closer they came, the more emotions swirled in her eyes. She paused in front of the door, staring at it as if it were a grotesque recreation of her darkest nightmares, not a cracked slab of stone cut to fit the hole. For a moment, she hesitated, and Zevran wondered if she would turn away and seek out Jarvia some other way. Then she swallowed, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open. 

Inside, they found an ambush. He had not a moment to take in his surroundings before a sword was swinging for his head. On instinct, his foot kicked out and collided with his attacker’s knee, sending the swing wide enough to easily dodge out of the way, drawing his own blades in the process. The attacker swung again, this time bringing the sword up in an arc that would have sliced across his midsection if he were not as quick as he was. Zevran parried with his dagger and lunged with his sword, bringing the blade up and under the attacker’s arm before plunging it into the soft flesh of an exposed armpit.

As his attacker fell, Zevran took stock of the battle around him. Several dead bodies already laid on the floor, films of ice indicating Morrigan’s handiwork, as Alistair bashed his shield into someone, crushing them between the wall and his superior weight. Zevran’s eyes searched for Natia, and found her standing over one of the thugs, her dagger across his throat as he raised his hands in supplication.

“I was just doing as Leske asked. Said Jarvia gave the word to make sure you never left,” the thug said as the others approached, the last of their attackers dispatched.

“Leske sent you?” Natia’s words hissed out in anger and disbelief, her brow knitted in confusion.

“He told me he’d get you here,” the man continued, his eyes frantically darting around the party as they loomed over him. “All we had to do was take you out. You don’t disobey Leske, you know. He’s Jarvia’s top man.”

“Where is he now?” Natia asked, her voice low and dangerous.

“At the base, I guess, with Jarvia. That’s where he usually is.”

“How do I get there?”

He handed over a bone token and explained how to use it. She turned it over in her fingers, her face smoothing out as she buried her emotions beneath a facade of implacability. It was unnerving seeing her normally expressive eyes, so often filled with excitement or amusement, become as empty and cold as a tomb. Zevran almost would have preferred an explosion of anger or grief. At least then he’d know how to comfort her.

“Will you let me go now?” The thug asked, mistaking her calm exterior as a chance for mercy.

“No,” she answered, her voice flat and emotionless. “You die like the rest of Jarvia’s lackeys.”

She sliced her dagger across his throat. 

Once the man had bled out, Natia rifled through his and his associates’ belongings, looking for anything she could use or sell. Then, without a single glance around the home she had grown up in, she strode out of the hovel, Morrigan at her back. 

Alistair and Zevran hesitated, both men looking around the two small rooms. There wasn’t much to see. The scant furniture that had been left behind was largely wrecked or rotting. Zevran didn’t know how much it had changed in the months she’d been away, but even clean and well-furnished, the place couldn’t have provided a comfortable home. The only evidence at all that real dwarves had lived there was a skill-less finger painting hanging crooked on one wall, the colors leached by time and dirt. Had Natia painted it, perhaps?

Alistair jerked his head towards the door, pulling Zevran from his observations. Whatever Natia had experienced here, it had no place in her life now. They had a job to do.

The two men caught up with Natia and Morrigan just as they were figuring out the bone door. Natia flashed a smile at them as they approached, but it was forced, and didn’t reach her eyes.

“Let’s go kill us a Carta boss,” she said. 

Zevran suspected it wasn’t Jarvia’s death she was so looking forward to.


	4. Friends to Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leske learns the price of betrayal.

Watching Natia fight was always disconcerting to those that cared about her well being. She was bloody and brutal, taking dangerous risks that paid off in crippling injuries, usually for her opponents, but sometimes for her. She was in her element fighting other dwarves in a way that Alistair had never seen before. She danced around their blows and thrusts instinctively, dropping to her knees and twirling through the dust to cut at the backs of their knees, running halfway up the walls to flip over their heads, and rushing at them until they were too close to swing at or block her as she drove home her daggers. Even the darkspawn that had swarmed them in the Tower of Ishal had not faced such a bloodthirsty and lethal woman.

They cleared out the Carta hideout methodically, searching room by room for each and every thug that could be found. Each newly opened door seemed to energize Natia, at first quickening her moves and then leading her to a frenzy of bloodletting. It was almost shocking, the wild abandon with which she cut down those that wore the same brand as she on their dusty face. Like she was punishing them for not being her true target. Alistair had never shied from killing when the situation called for it, but he had also never reveled in it, not as she did now, cutting into his own opponents when he did not land the killing blow quick enough. 

Zevran watched with an entirely different perspective. To him, her ruthlessness as she tracked closer to her target was a thing of beauty. She used her anger not as armor, but as momentum, each spray of blood as she slashed skin open fueling her ferocity to even more gruesome violence. A time or two, he found himself hesitating, not out of fear or misplaced morality, but simply because she had drawn his eye and he found he could not look away. How had he ever thought he could kill her? 

When they finally found Jarvia, Leske was with her, as expected. It was only then that Natia stilled, her face blank, but her eyes sparkling with something dark and unsettling. The two parties eyed each other, weapons drawn and at the ready, muscles tight, and eyes wary.

“What was I supposed to do?” Leske asked with a shrug, breaking the silence to answer Natia’s unspoken challenge. “You were gone and Javia was pulling the strings. Not all of us got your opportunities.”

“I never would have betrayed you,” she said. Her voice was soft and quiet, as if she was speaking to a scared child. Her eyes sought his and held them until he looked away.

“You’ve got too much sun on the brain. You forgot what it’s like,” Leske scoffed, an angry edge creeping into his tone. “When Beraht died, Jarvia came out on top. She’s got the swords, she’s got the coin, and she’s got the bed where I sleep. If you were here, you’d have done the same.”

“How could you trust her after what Beraht did to us?” Again, she didn’t yell or quake, her voice almost soothing, more curious than accusatory. It was unnerving, and Leske’s unease showed in the way he fidgeted, his eyes darting around the room every time her gaze sought them out.

“You messed with his plan,” he said, shrugging to hide his unease. “He lost thousands of sovereigns because of us. What else could he do?”

Natia might have had too much sun on the brain, but looking at him now, the way he just let Jarvia drape her arm around him without so much as a shudder, she was sure he’d become lyrium-addled. He’d been kicked one too many times, he’d started to believe he deserved what he got. Naturally, someone like Jarvia promising an end to the pain, if only he did everything she asked of him, would be irresistible. 

She let her lip curl, the sole hint of the emotions she was feeling she allowed to grace her face. All those years, he had her back, and she’d trusted him to it. Had his loyalties always been so flimsy? It didn’t speak well of her judgement. And that was the root of her disgust. He’d stood in front of her and lied and she hadn’t seen it. Leske did as was natural, looking for the scariest dwarf to align with and relying on their intimidation for protection, but she… she was supposed to be smarter than this. Shrewder than this. She had allowed herself to be blinded by affection, and she’d put her entire mission in jeopardy because of it.

“You won’t hurt me,” she finally said, her head cocked slightly to one side.

“No? We’ll see who holds the leash here,” Jarvia laughed. She smiled at Natia, her teeth bared too wide, like a wolf about to lunge. She was under the mistaken impression that Natia’s assessment was an assertion of trust. Natia’s sneer widened into a condescending smile as Jarvia spoke her last words. “Leske, kill her.”

She didn’t live to see Leske’s blade come anywhere close to Natia. When they launched into battle, it was Alistair who crossed steel with him, as Zevran and Morrigan engaged the other thugs in attendance. But Jarvia? Jarvia’s death belonged to Natia. She had earned it in every snide comment, every backhanded slap, every impossible run she’d goaded Beraht into assigning Natia. Beraht had been a leach, but Jarvia had been standing at his side, complicit in every ill action. Natia didn’t take her time, but she did make it hurt. The look of shock and horror on Jarvia’s face as she saw her lifeblood drain away was sweet to taste.

Leske folded after that. He came to his knees in front of her, the tip of Alistair’s sword pressing into the side of his neck.

“Please, Nat,” he begged. He looked like a man who knew how close his death was. “I didn’t have another choice.”

“I know, Leske.” She smiled at him, pity in her gaze. A moment of hope flared as he stared back up at her, but it was short-lived. She forgave him, they both understood. But he couldn’t live. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I know that, too.” 

When it was done, Natia moved through the routine of rifling through bodies for useful loot. She picked the locked chests and gathered valuable gear as if his death had been as common as any other. She even traded a laugh or two with Morrigan.

Zevran knew better. He saw the emptiness in her eyes and knew it for what it was because he’d seen it in his own, looking into a mirror soon after Rinna’s death. What use was there in pining over such a death? It would only bring pain to think about, so she was carefully thinking nothing. It would consume her, if she let it. It would bleed every scrap of feeling within her until she was as cold as the stone. It was what would have happened to him, if fate had not intervened.

“You deserved better,” he said to her, crouching at her side as she rifled through Jarvia’s papers for incriminating information she could use or sell.

“I would have done the same,” she shrugged.

“Oh? And I’m sure Jarvia would have found you a more pleasing partner with which to share a bed.” She glanced at him, but did not smile. He tried again. “This man, when you left he had nothing, yes? No family, no one looking out for him and no one to look out for.”

She nodded her head.

“But that could never be you,” he pointed out. “Why, on the day we arrived, I had the good fortune to meet your lovely sister.” 

She looked at him again, arching one eyebrow. “What does Rica have to do with it?”

“Do you love her?”

“Of course I sodding love her,” she scowled, clearly annoyed at his need to ask the question.

“Loving someone, knowing they love you, it is no insignificant thing,” he said. Again, he remembered the grief and guilt that had washed over him when he learned that Rinna’s death had been for nothing and the emptiness that had led him to wish for his own death. “It changes what you do, when you do not live only for yourself.”

He held her gaze and tried not to give too much away. It wouldn’t do to see the moment as anything other than a reminder that one betrayal did not set a precedent. That she didn’t have to harden herself against everyone she let close.

“Rica doesn’t need me anymore,” she said.

“Would she say the same?”

She considered him for a moment, then lifted one corner of her mouth in a small smile. “No.”

“Would you ever betray her? Let her down? Hurt her? Would she do so for you?”

“I know, Zevran,” she said, then sighed heavily. “But Rica lives in a palace. I live on the surface. We don’t fight the same battles.”

“Have you no one else you can rely on completely?” He looked away then, afraid of what she would see in his eyes when she answered. Afraid of what he would see in hers. 

“You’re right,” she finally said. “Boulder would never betray me. Not even for some of Sten’s cookies.”

When his eyes snapped back to hers, the twinkle of mischief and amusement had returned. He let out a breath, freed from the burden of knowing if she truly trusted him or not. She wasn’t wrong. The great drooling mabari would follow her to great lengths without hesitation. Zevran wondered if she truly knew he wasn’t the only one.


	5. Crowned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A party is thrown for newly crowned King Behlen.

“Maker’s breath, but you are beautiful.” Alistair stared at her wide-eyed, his whole body frozen in shock at the sight before him before a flush of red crept from his neck up to his cheeks. “I- I mean, of course you are. You’re always beautiful. I meant the dress. The dress is beautiful. And you in it. Or- or out of it. Wait, no. That didn’t sound right.”

“I look ridiculous,” Natia grumbled, stopping him before he could dig himself into any deeper of a hole. “This dress has so many damn sapphires, it weighs more than my armor.” 

Natia didn’t often come to regret her decisions, but she found herself fervently wishing she hadn’t agreed to stay in Orzammar for a few days after she’d returned from the Deep Roads and crowned Behlen king. But Rica had looked so pleased, and Natia wasn’t sure when she’d get to see her again, and so had consented to stay for the coronation party to spend just a little more time with her.

Then Rica had spent an entire day primping and priming Natia for the party, squeezing her into a corset that prevented her from bending at the waist, coating her face in make-up, braiding her hair into a ridiculous plait that looked more like the flumes on ceremonial helmets, and, of course, forcing her to wear the most impractical, austentatious,  _ expensive _ dress Natia had ever seen.

She was tired. The journey into the Deep Roads had not been a pleasant one, and she had learned too many terrible things to ever sleep soundly again, darkspawn dreams or no. She envied Alistair, who had stayed behind in case she failed. He hadn’t been happy about that decision, but arguing against her wasn’t his strong suit.

Now, Alistair was dressed in finery that almost rivaled the ridiculousness of her own. They were to be the honored guests, the Grey Warden alliance an important and necessary component in Behlen’s victory. She briefly wondered how many dwarf tailors it had taken to make his clothing in only a few days, but then the doors were opened and they were ushered inside.

The whole event was torture. First there was the ceremony, then speech after speech about Behlen’s power and Grey Warden might before they were allowed to eat anything. The food turned out to be good, but thanks to the vice around her midsection, she couldn’t eat much of it. Finally, music was played and the dances began, the first of which would be the symbolic union of king and Warden.

“I’ve never danced,” she warned Behlen as he placed one hand on her upper back and guided her into position.

“Don’t tell me Dust Town doesn’t have balls,” he joked. 

“Maybe now they will,” she speculated. “A lot of dwarves seem to think you’ll change things for them.”

“What do you think?” he asked, pressing gently into her to guide her through the steps.

“I think you killed your brother,” she answered. If he seemed surprised at her bluntness, he did not show it. He didn’t show anything, in fact. He wore a mask of joviality, his eyes creased in what appeared to be genuine happiness. Perhaps it was genuine.

“You wouldn’t be the first to say so. I doubt you’ll be the last. But I loved my brothers. Both of them. If an accusation like that could hurt me, neither of us would be here right now.”

“Brothers kill each other all the time,” Natia scoffed. “And I’m not making an accusation. I’m just letting you know that I know what really happened, and I’ve got proof.”

Natia tripped over a turn, her heel landing on Behlen’s toe. He grunted faintly, then tightened his grip on her, lifting slightly, until her weight was in his arms, not in her feet.

“Careful, my king,” she warned him. “Everyone’s watching.”

He laughed. “I could crush you, right here, right now, and no one save Rica would protest. For now, I’ll just keep you from stepping on me again. You’re still more useful to me alive than dead.”

“And you’re still more useful as king than corpse,” she responded. “I’m not going to threaten your reign. Not as long as Rica is well cared for. I’m just letting you know what the consequences are should you disappoint me.”

“It’s too bad you were born a brand,” Behlen lamented, his teeth bared in a smile that was both ferocious and friendly. “You would have made a formidable deshyr. It’s just another example of how tradition has failed us. Trian would have let it keep happening. Both my brothers would have. I put my love for my people and my country ahead of my love for my bothers. I would do it again, if I had to.”

“Would you put it above your love for Rica?”

Behlen didn’t answer immediately. He considered her words, letting his eyes slip from Natia’s to seek out her red-headed sister, now laughing with Alistair at his graceless attempts to dance. His expression softened as he watched her, his smile becoming less fearsome. When he turned back to Natia, however, his eyes were once again hard and dangerous.

“Rica is Orzammar. It’s dwarves like her that will shape the future of our race, and I won’t let anyone or anything jeopardize her place here.”

The implication was clear. Behlen would cut her down if she attempted to take Rica from him. Natia smiled at him as the song ended and bent her knees in what she hoped was a successful curtsy. He bowed deeply in return.

“May your reign be long and prosperous, King Behlen,” she said.

“May you always call Orzammar your home until you return to the stone, Warden Brosca,” he responded.

The rest of the night was filled with more dancing, as every deshyr and nobleman vied for their chance to impress the formidable Warden who stood so close to the throne. The dances were simple, and it didn’t take her long to master the steps, but she used her inexperience and clumsiness to send more than one man limping from the dance floor, punished for their over-eager hands. She lost count of how many dances she’d had before she could slip away to a shadowed corner and catch her breath. 

Zevran found her then, an icy mug of ale in his hand. She took it gratefully and poured it down her throat.

“There is not a man here who does not hope to have you on his arm,” he remarked. “Perhaps an elf could count himself among the lucky dance partners?”

“Please don’t make me,” she pleaded before signaling to a servant for another mug. “Dancing must have been invented by the same nug-licking bastard who decided to make jewel-encrusted dresses fashionable. Did Morrigan come? Is there any chance she could shift into a giant spider and put an end to my torture?”

“Alas, she did not. She said something about awkward eye-levels and then closed her door in my face. But I will not add to your torment.” He smiled at her, hoping to hide his disappointment, but she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were darting past him, on the look-out for the next bold annoyance that would drag her back out on the floor.

“There you are!” a cheery voice called at them. Natia tried to instinctively duck behind Zevran’s taller frame, but it was clear they had been spotted.

“Why Lady Brosca, what a pleasure to see you again,” he greeted Rica as she approached them.

“Hello, Zev,” she returned the greeting, letting him kiss the back of her hand as she beamed at him. “Have you asked her to dance? This might be your only chance, considering how popular she is now.”

“Indeed I did and was cruelly rejected for it,” he answered, clutching his chest with his hand in dramatic fashion. Natia rolled her eyes.

“I don’t want to dance anymore. I want to drink, then go back to my room, tear off this dress, and sleep,” she complained, looking around her. “When is that servant coming back with the ale?”

“Perhaps I should go search for it,” Zevran suggested, and left the two sisters together. 

“You’re not having fun?” Rica asked, concern written in the knit of her brows. Natia tried to ignore the little pang of guilt that shot through her gut. 

“You know, I don’t actually enjoy being pawed at by selfish old men with ugly beards,” she snapped. 

“If you keep this up, you won’t have anyone pawing at you, not even nice young men without beards,” Rica snapped back, narrowing her eyes.

“What? Why would I  _ want _ anyone pawing at me?”

Rica sighed heavily and closed her eyes. “Nevermind. Forget it.”

“You’re being weird,” Natia said.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Rica shook her head, trying to order the thoughts in her mind. “I guess I just thought it would get better, having Behlen be king. That I would feel safer. But if anything, I’m more on edge, less secure.”

“You think he’ll toss you aside?” Natia asked, the hard edge in her tone making it obvious what she thought of such an action.

“Oh, no!” Rica countered. “He would never. He loves me, and would never turn me aside. That’s the only thing I’m certain of. It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”

Rica’s eyes sought out her beloved, now engaged in hearty conversation with a group of similarly drunk men. Natia noticed how Rica’s face softened as she watched him, the same way his had softened when he’d watched her. “You actually love him?”

“Yes,” Rica nodded. “I didn’t think I would, at first. He was kind enough to me, but I was never foolish enough to hope it would be anything more than a convenient arrangement. When I found out I was pregnant, he was overjoyed, but I… it was hard to see him as anything more than a safety net.”

“What changed?”

“I moved into the palace. Suddenly, I was around him all the time, and not in secret either. I got to see every side of him, both the hard edges he shows to the world and the tender ones he shows only to me. I love him for every flaw as well as all his strength.” Rica turned to look at her little sister, the love in her eyes undeniable. “In a lot of ways, he reminds me of you.”

“Eww,” Natia said. Rica laughed.

“Hush, little sister. Soon enough you’ll have a love of your own, and I will not be merciful when I tease you for it.”

Natia wrinkled her nose. Love seemed such a fanciful thing, reserved for fairytales and ads for cakes. She was a warrior and a Grey Warden. Even if she wanted to fall in love, she didn’t have time for it. Nevertheless, she wondered what it would be like to have someone look at her the way Behlen and Rica looked at each other. Like she was the one good thing in a world of darkness.

She spotted Zevran heading back toward them with fresh mugs in his hands. Her gaze was pulled to his easy smile, his golden hair framing his strong face, the leading curves of his tattoo. With great effort, she focused on the mugs instead. That was all she needed, really. Just another drink.

Perhaps, if she drank enough, she would forget the flutter of her heart when her fingers grazed his as she took a mug from his hands.


	6. Stone Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran offers Natia a massage after she escapes from the ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is significantly longer than the others, and it's mostly sexual.

“Stealing away in the shadows while there are still dances to be had?”

Natia started, her heart leaping into her throat at the unexpected voice in her ear, a cry of surprise muffled before it could ever be mustered. She turned her head slowly to glare at the face that smirked at her, his brilliant white teeth catching the light of nearby sconces. 

“Are you going to rat me out?” she asked Zevran. “Did Rica pay you to keep me from sneaking out?”

“I am offended you think my loyalties could be so easily bought,” he huffed, his face a picture of righteous indignation. “Is it not possible I simply wanted to assist you in your escape?”

Natia closed her eyes and grimaced. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little jumpy. I don’t like… this. This parading about. Everyone pretending they like me, trying to see what they can get from me. It’s too…” 

“Too much like wearing your boots on the wrong feet?” he offered.

Natia nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“You are used to being the one with an angle, I assume.”

“I thought I wanted power, but if this is what comes with it…” She gestured to her gown and motioned back down the corridor towards the sound of music floating out of a half-opened door. “Maybe I just want to be power-adjacent.”

“So you sneak out through the servant’s quarters to…” Zevran’s eyebrows raised in question, but Natia didn’t have a ready answer. She had just wanted to get out, away from the endless dancing and posturing and having to fake a smile. She hadn’t thought about what to do after.

“I kind of want to rob them all,” she admitted, shrugging.

“It would be an excellent opportunity, with the majority of them here occupied and unlikely to return to their estates anytime soon.” He cocked his head at her. “Why do you hesitate?”

Natia took a deep breath. Or rather, she tried to, but her lungs wouldn’t expand far in the silk and metal confines of her undergarments. “I’m still wearing a corset.”

Zevran’s eyes closed in silent laughter, and she fought the urge to smack him for it. Instead, she turned away and crept down the hall, sticking to the shadows, her feet silent. He followed. 

“I must assume your plan now is to rid yourself of the garment?” he asked, close on her heels as she rounded a corner.

“Can’t be a burglar in a ball gown,” she murmured.

The sound of closing doors echoed ahead of them, followed by quick footsteps. The hallway was bare, save the art on the walls, providing them little options for hiding. Natia thought quickly, grabbing Zevran by the front of his tunic and pulling him against her as she backed into the shallow alcove of a door. He was big enough to hide her from view, the top of her head coming up just below his shoulder, and while whoever spied them would easily notice he was with a dwarven woman, no one would know it was her.

Zevran caught on to her ruse quickly, wrapping one arm around her as the other braced against the door. He dipped his head until his lips were at her temple, her skin tingling under the soft puffs of his breath. 

“If you wished to stand so close to me, you need only have asked,” he whispered, the tip of his nose brushing against her hair. Natia didn’t respond. She focused on the footsteps that now approached them, waiting for a slowing to indicate she’d been recognized. She didn’t focus on the heat that came from Zevran’s body, or the way his heart thudded under her hands, or the weight of his hand on her lower back. If her breathing was heavy, it was because she didn’t want to be caught and sent back to the party. It had nothing to do with the smoky scent of leather that clung to Zevran’s golden skin.

When the footsteps trailed away again, she expected him to step away from her, to regain the distance between then. He didn’t. He stayed pressed against her, his hand slowly dragging up her back as he continued to nuzzle her hair. She curled her fists around his shirt, her back arching at the touch. He was so close. She could easily turn her head and press her lips along his jaw, taste his skin as she had been wishing to since the day they met. But now wasn’t the time, and this wasn’t the place.

“Zevran?” she prompted, straightening her fingers and pressing lightly on his chest.

“Yes?” he breathed, slowly yielding to her pressure and letting go. His eyes were half-closed, and as he stepped away from her, they made a slow tour of her body. 

“Tonight isn’t the night for robbery,” Natia said, trying to regain her composure. “I’m just going to go to bed.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “Please allow me to escort you to your room.”

They walked in silence. A respectful and appropriate three feet separated them, and in that distance hung the weight of the moment that had passed. Natia tried to push it out of her mind. She’d done so well over the past months to avoid thinking of him at all. One night in Denerim with a pirate between them was hardly any indication of desire, and he’d made no move to share such intimacy with her since. She’d resigned herself to the idea that his flirtations would never amount to anything more and been content to simply have him at her side. But the heat that had sparked between them had been tangible, and he’d no reason to fake the look of desire in his eyes as he’d stepped away.

They reached the door of her suite. She paused for a moment, looking at the doorknob, wondering if there was something she should say. Months ago she had decided not to pursue him, afraid of the power imbalance that separated them becoming a tool of coercion. Now, however, she felt a sliver of hope. Perhaps if she simply left the door open, he would choose to walk through it.

“Zevran, I-”

“Look at you,” he cooed, catching her hand and turning her to face him. “Your weary stance, the dark circles under your eyes. All that dancing has gotten to you. Do you know what you need?”

“A good night’s rest, maybe?” 

“I’m thinking more drastic measures are called for, in fact,” he countered, shaking his head. “My thought is this. You invite me into your room and I show you the sort of massage skills that one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse.”

“A massage?” she repeated, her brows knit together in confusion. An image flashed into her mind, one of his golden hands working oil into the dark skin of her back. Then his hands working lower, until they- “I’ve never had a massage before.”

“You’ve never…” Now it was his turn to look confused, and her frowned at her for a moment before he understood. “Of course, a massage would not be a familiar diversion among the inhabitants of Dust Town. But I can assure you, they do wonders for tense, sore muscles and heavy burdened shoulders. You would not regret allowing me to service you.”

“No, I don’t think I would,” she admitted. “But I don’t want you to feel obligated to give me any special treatment.”

“My Natia, it is I who am offering,” he reminded her. His thumb rubbed lazy circles against the back of her hand, and she found herself caught up in the rich hues of his honey-brown eyes. The way he said her name, called her his, was intoxicating, and she wondered why she had spent so long trying not to look at him. It was just a massage, after all. Not a promise of anything more.

“Okay,” she consented. “A massage, would be… nice.”

“Excellent,” he said, and kissed her hand in satisfaction. “And if I may ask, should the opportunity to move beyond the massage present itself…?”

Not just a massage then. He wanted to be with her. His mind was on the same actions that consumed hers, their bodies moving rhythmically together with nothing but skin to seperate them. She wanted to say yes, to hell with the massage, and just pull him into her room and begin pulling the clothes from his body. But this time it would be just the two of them, and if he found her disappointing, she’d never be able to face him again.

“Zev, I… I don’t know about this.”

“What is there to fear, Natia? You deserve a little fun, do you not?” He peered at her as if he could see straight into her soul, the power of her gaze heating her core until she feared she would melt into a puddle at his feet. Then he stepped back slightly. “If you’re not of a mind, however, it is no great tragedy.”

“I am,” she hurried to correct. He smiled at her, cat-like, then leaned close to run the tip of his finger along her jaw.

“Then why are we still talking?” he asked.

“I just want you to be sure you want this,” she said. 

“I have wanted this since the moment I awoke, covered in my own blood, to discover you had not killed me,” he assured her. “I believe I have made my intentions abundantly clear. Now, if you do not open your door, then I will have to assume you wish for a more public venue.” 

Natia opened her door. She hurried through it, and no sooner had it closed than Zevran’s hands were on her, wrapping around her waist to pull her close and nuzzling into the crook of her neck. The press of his lips against the sensitive skin sent jolts of electricity through her, and she gasped as his teeth caught a bit of her flesh in a playful nip.

“Shall I interpret that as a gasp of pleasure,” he asked, his voice a purr.

“Yes,” she answered, and he bit her a second time.

His hands tried to roam over her body, but the jewels on the dress made for frustrating obstacles. With a curse, he turned his attention to the buttons that lined the back. With bated breath, Natia waited for him to undo them, but they proved to be more formidable closures than anticipated.

“What, have these been sealed with magic?” he asked, exasperated.

“Just tear it,” she said. “I hate this dress anyway. We can pop the sapphires off later and sell them, just get me out of this thing.”

“Hold still,” he ordered. She heard the sound of a blade being pulled free, then the press and pull as he hooked the point under the back of the collar. The sound of tearing fabric was louder than she’d expected, but the dress fell off her into a heavy pile until she stood in just her corset, boots, and smallclothes.

Natia felt him step away from her and began to turn to face him.

“Do not move,” he called out. She froze. “I would like to enjoy this view for a moment. So many times I have followed you, wondering what you looked like under your armor. The next time I do so, I want to make sure I can recall this image.”

Natia giggled and let him look. “Are you going to tell me what to do all night long?”

“Would that please you?” he asked, suddenly close again. “I do not mind being in control, if you wish to give it up for a time. Or, if you prefer, I could follow your orders with single-minded obedience.”

Natia considered his offer. She’d been thrust into leadership after Ostagar, but after tonight, she wasn’t sure it suited her. She was tired of being in charge, and if Zevran wanted to be in control tonight, she had no reason not to let him.

“I don’t want to make a single decision tonight,” she said. “Is that okay?”

“Do not worry. I will make sure you enjoy this as much as I will,” he promised. “Now, very slowly, remove your smallclothes without turning around.”

She felt him step away again, no doubt to watch as she followed through. It was exciting, not knowing what was coming, only what she had to do in the moment. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and began to lower the garment. Still wearing the corset made it more difficult to bend, but she kept her back straight, pushing her hips back toward Zev as she uncovered the flesh of her backside and let the smallclothes drop to the floor.

“Tsk, tsk. What a lewd woman you are, to undress so provocatively,” he teased. “But now I must see if there is any shame in your eyes for it. Turn around.” 

She did as he bade her, her chin jutting up in pride as his eyes traveled from the dark thicket of curls between her legs to her corseted midsection to the unbound breasts that hung free and uncovered.

“This I have not seen before,” he admitted, looking her over. “A corset that does not confine your magnificent bosom? Such a thing must have been made by a desire demon, surely.”

“Would you like me to take it off as well?” she asked, already reaching for the stings in back.

“Please do not,” he said. “If it is not uncomfortable, I would like you to continue to wear it.”

“It isn’t, but I can’t take deep breaths.”

“I have found that limited breathing can enhance one’s pleasure,” he mused. “If it becomes troublesome, I can always cut it off you later.”

Natia couldn’t help but grin. She almost hoped it did become troublesome so he would rip it from her body as he had the dress, but she also imagined that the way it squeezed her insides would have an enticing impact on his ability to move within her when they got there.

“I think I would like you on your knees,” he said. She sank to the floor, resting on her heels. “Keep your legs apart, though.” 

He made a slow circle of her, removing his own clothes as he did so. Natia enjoyed the heat of his gaze as his eyes raked over her, and when he came back into view, she found that simply looking at her was enough to make his erection stand at attention, the dark lines of his tattoos guiding her eyes to the member. He lazily stroked it, watching her with half-closed eyes.

“I want to see you touch yourself,” he said. “Show me how you bring yourself pleasure when you are all alone.”

Natia moved one hand between her legs, parting her lower lips to find them already slick with desire. Her fingers slipped through the wetness, finding her most sensitive bud and rolling it between her fingers.

“Tell me, my Natia, what is it you think of when you touch yourself?”

“You,” she answered. 

“Am I the hero of your fantasies? And what do I do to you in your thoughts?”

“Everything. I imagine you touch me, slipping your hands into my clothes and between my legs. Or you cup my breasts, tease and pinch the nipples. Your hands circle my waist, my arms, my neck. You hold me against you, letting me feel how much you want me before you take me, making me wait until it hurts, making me beg you to enter. Sometimes I think about waking to find you already between my legs, your tongue teasing me like you did in Denerim. Sometimes I fantasize we fall behind the group in the forest, and you press me into a tree and take me hard and fast before the others can notice. Sometimes I dream you just kiss me for hours, over every inch of my body, and I take you into my mouth until you’re screaming my name.”

“Such lurid thoughts you have,” he tisked. “I shall enjoy helping you realize each and every one of them.”

He came close to her then, crouching down to look her in the eyes as she continued to rub her fingers on her clit. One hand trailed down her chest and over the rounded flesh of her breast, fingers catching on the nipple and pinching it just as she’d wished. The other hand reached for her face, gripping her jaw to pull her in for a kiss. 

Zevran’s lips were soft as they pressed into hers, and she opened to him, letting his tongue slip into her mouth. A moan escaped her, and his kiss became more needy, more aggressive. He pulled up on her nipple again, pulling her even closer to him. His teeth scraped against her briefly as he pressed deeper into her mouth, filling her in a way that was overwhelming and breathtaking. 

When he pulled away suddenly, she almost fell forward. He stood, heavy breaths making his chest rise and fall in a distracting fashion as her eyes were once again drawn to his erection.

“Stand up,” he said, and she scrambled to her feet. “Stand at the edge of the bed, facing it, and brace yourself against it.”

Natia did so, trepidation and excitement warring with the raw need to touch him and be touched by him. She didn’t know what he would do next, but every moment he made her wait was delicious torture that made her drip with primal desire.

He followed her to the bed, and when she braced herself, he pulled at the strings of her corset, methodically tightening the already tight garment. “If this begins to hurt, or if you become light-headed or faint, you must tell me immediately,” he ordered.

“I will.”

The corset squeezed around her like a vice and she struggled to take a breath. It made her feel more vulnerable, as she knew she’d never be free of the thing without his help, but she also felt certain she could trust him to know when she couldn’t take it anymore and free her. The thought made her pause. She trusted him. Not simply to have her back in a fight, but to consider her well being beyond what was beneficial to him. Whatever he was planning to do to her, she was certain he did it only because he thought she’d enjoy it, and more than that, she trusted him to live up to his intentions. She’d never trusted anyone that much, except for Rica. 

Zevran helped her stand upright again, then sat on the bed in front of her. “I recall you saying something about making me scream your name, yes?”

Natia nodded. 

“Will you show me now how you intend to make me do so?”

Zevran reached for her and ran his thumb along her bottom lip. She started to kneel in front of him, but he stopped her, then pushed her legs apart until she was standing more than shoulder-width apart.

“No, I want you to stay standing. You see, there is a mirror behind you, and I want to watch you drip with desire while your mouth is filled with me. In fact, you should reach back and make sure I have a clear view.”

“I see I am not the only one with lurid thoughts,” she teased, her hands cupping the flesh at the base of her thighs and pulling it apart, leaving her sex exposed to his view. 

“We make quite the pair, do we not?” 

Zevran kissed her once more, then wound his fingers through her hair and guided her head to his erection. She started with her tongue, licking from the base of the shaft to the smooth head. He tasted better than she could have hoped, certainly better than the other men she’d done the same for. When she closed her lips around the tip, he let out a breath, his fingers instinctively tightening in her hair. Moving slowly, she descended on his cock, her tongue swirling as her lips applied a steady pressure. When the head hit the back of her throat, she pulled back, sucking until the whole thing pulled out of her mouth with an audible pop. 

She began her work in earnest, her mouth watering as she slowly increased the tempo. It didn’t take her long to make him breathe heavily, and by the time she pulled forth his first moan, he had both hands tangled in her hair. As his hips began to buck against her, she let him take over control of the speed and depth, until every thrust was hitting the back of her throat.

“I must ask you for something more,” he said, pulling her free of him to look her in the eye. “I would like to go deeper, if you can. It is no easy feat, but if you are willing, I would like you to try.”

“Such a greedy lover you are,” she mocked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Here I am, doing my very best, and still you want more.”

“I am greedy?” he shot back. “If I remember correctly, the last time you were naked before me, it was  _ you _ who demanded the service of  _ my _ tongue until you were exhausted from pleasure. Did I not deliver, even though I had  _ two _ lovely women to tend to?”

“I-,” Natia huffed. “I apologize for nothing. If you want me to repay the favor, maybe you should stop asking and start telling.”

“Alright, but remember that you asked for this,” he chuckled. Then he pulled her down on him again, and this time, when he hit the back of her throat, he kept pressing. Natia fought against the urge to pull away and relaxed her throat. It took a moment, but he finally pushed through to fill her in a way that she had never experienced before. She couldn’t breathe at all, and with the corset so tight, her body didn’t have to leverage to heave him off. The idea that he could kill her like this briefly crossed her mind, but then he was pulling free and she sucked in air. Twice more he pushed into her throat, each time lingering there just long enough for a moment of panic to rise within her.

The next time he pulled her off of him, he spun her around so quickly she stumbled and would have fallen if his arms hadn’t wrapped around her, pulling her close.

“Look,” he said, pointing to the mirror that had afforded him such an explicit view. She saw herself reflected back and was a little shocked at her appearance. Her hair was a mess, half pulled free of the braids. Tears and spit from having him in her mouth had caused the make-up to smear, leaving tracks of dark color across her cheeks. “Have you ever seen such a beautiful woman?”

Natia watched as his hands splayed across her corseted stomach before coming up to cup her breasts, kneading the supple flesh as he kissed and nipped at her neck. One hand sank lower, tugging at the curls between her thighs before slipping into the slick folds and touching her just as she’d done earlier. 

“I want you to watch me enter you,” he whispered, nudging her legs apart with his knees. “I want you to see how magnificent you are, and every stroke of pleasure I bring you, know that it is nothing compared to the pleasure you give me.”

He cupped her mound and pulled her back against him, his erection sliding through the dampness of her thighs until it rubbed at her opening. He pushed her forward until she was half bent over, then she watched in the mirror as his cock pressed into her and slowly disappeared. 

It was a tight fit, made even tighter by the corset wrapped around her. Now she understood why he’d wanted her to keep it on, why he’d tightened it. Every inch was blissful agony as she sank down on him, clenching around him like a vice. He made a guttural noise when he bottomed out, the hand buried in her mound clutching at her. She could see his face in the mirror too, mouth open, eyes closed. She’d never seen a man look so full of ecstasy.

His hips jerked, bucking up into her, and his cock rubbed against a cluster of nerves that made her cry out. Natia reached for something to stabilize herself, but there was nothing. Her feet weren’t even on the ground, so trapped was she in Zevran’s arms. She reached back and scraped her fingernails along his scalp, grasping at his golden locks in a desperate bid to hold onto something. The more he moved in her, the tighter she clung, afraid that letting go for even a second would cause her to come undone.

Zevran’s thrusts were slow and powerful, like a battering ram that sent sparks of electricity along her nerves with every movement. He sunk his teeth into her neck, the pain mixed with pleasure to transform moans and heavy breathing into screams of rapture.

In a moment, Zevran pulled her off of him, and then she was beneath him, her back pressed into the bed as he hooked one arm under her knee and drove back into her. The new position gave him more leverage, and his thrusts became more frantic, driving faster and deeper. His head dipped to find a nipple, sucking on it as Natia arched her back and dug her fingernails into the skin on his shoulders. Her own hips were bucking against him just as frantically, the friction of skin on skin every time their hips met becoming her most fervent need. 

“Natia,” he cried, burying his head in her neck and clutching her as close to him as he could. She wrapped her legs around his hips, trapping him as he trapped her.

“Natia,” he cried again, his thrusts little more than uncontrolled spasms. The sound of her name on his lips, full of wanting and desperation, was too much for her to bear, and she crested the wave of pleasure in a silent, breathless scream. The force of her spasms around him was enough to drag him to his own climax. They clung to each other as their bodies milked every last ounce of pleasure from the moment, their hips slowing eventually to a gentle rocking before the last of the spasms subsided. 

Once he had regained his breath, Zevran was quick to roll off of her. He fetched the closest dagger, the one she kept under her pillow, and slid the point of the blade between her breasts until it caught on the fabric of the corset. It wasn’t as easy to cut off her as he’d hoped, and he had to work in short little slices for fear of wounding her. But with each loosened inch, Natia’s breathing deepened, and when he’d finally removed the last of it, she rubbed at the indentations left on her skin.

“See. I knew this would happen eventually,” he said, smiling down at her with a satisfaction he hadn’t felt in a long time. “I should have warned you right from the moment you refused to kill me. It was inevitable.”

“Here I thought I seduced you,” she snorted, playfully pushing him away. He caught her hand and pressed a kiss into the palm. He wanted to kiss her lips, but he somehow felt he wasn’t allowed, now that the moment of love-making was over. No, not love-making. It was just sex. Good sex, but just sex.

“So, then,” he sighed. “As the priestess so famously said to the handsome actor: What now?”

One dark eyebrow arched at him, her small dark eyes meeting his in an unnerving stare. Seldom had he found himself under the scrutiny of her gaze. He had wished for it enough times, but now that he had it, he almost wished she’d look away.

“Was this a one-time thing?” she asked. Her voice was soft and curious, and he couldn’t tell what she hoped his answer would be. Would it be too dramatic to throw himself at her feet and beg to please her every night for the rest of her life? He could do it, and would, happily. But perhaps he should not press his luck. Seeing her naked the first time, with Isabela, had been the intervention of the Maker. Convincing her to lie with him a second time, this time alone, was so implausible he was tempted to believe he was in the thrall of a desire demon. A third time was too much for a mortal man to ask for. And yet... 

“Allow me to make it simple for you my Grey Warden,,” he said, clearing his throat. “What comes next is entirely up to you. I was raised to take my pleasures where they could be found, for they do not come very often. I shall ask nothing more of you than you are willing to give.” 

“It’s funny, I was raised to believe pleasure was a thing I didn’t deserve,” she mused, and his heart clenched in pain. “Dusters don’t get to fall in love, you know. Except Rica, apparently. And sex is a tool of survival far more than something to be truly enjoyed.”

“Did you not enjoy yourself?” he asked, clenching his jaw to hide his fear.

“Oh, I did,” she assured him, letting out a little laugh. “Probably more than I have any right to. But sex and love, they’re different things, aren’t they.”

It wasn’t a question, not really, but he felt compelled to answer anyway. “I was born of a whore and bred as an assassin. All I know is of pleasure and death. What room is there in these things for love?”

She could not ask him for love. He could admire her, protect her, serve her, pleasure her, follow her to the ends of Thedas. But he could not give her the love that she deserved, no matter what Rica had told him. It simply wasn’t in him to give.

“I’m glad you understand,” she said. His brows knit. He was sure he’d missed something in there somewhere. “Goodnight, Zevran.”

He forced himself to smile. She was dismissing him. He’d done as he said he would and brought her a night of passion, and now he was no longer needed. He quickly rose and redressed, making sure to grab the sapphire dress in case a servant came through and put it where it was supposed to be. He had no right to be disappointed, no right to hope that she’d ask him to stay. Such assurances did nothing to comfort him.

Before leaving, though, he paused, one final thought on his mind. “A question, if you will. Did you truly mean it when you said you hoped to wake to find me already between your legs?”

Natia’s face reddened, and she looked away, but she couldn’t stop a smile from creeping across her features. “I mean, are there better ways to wake up?”

He chuckled. “No. I cannot think of any, at least. Perhaps one morning you will find your wish granted.”

“I’d like that,” she said. The knot in his chest eased some, and he nodded before leaving, content in the knowledge that she at least did not find him disposable. At least not for the time being.

Natia kept her eyes on the closed door long after he’d gone. It didn’t matter if she was just another of his conquests, because wasn’t that all he was to her? Yes, she enjoyed his company and trusted him, but that didn’t mean he owed her anything. He’d made it very clear what his intentions toward her were, and she’d respect that. She didn’t have room for love, either. 

Both elf and dwarf fell asleep with the same thought on their mind: that a night that should have been satisfying had instead left them more dissatisfied than ever before.


End file.
